


Swimming Pools

by godtrash



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, boykissing, mention of sea slugs during boykissing, taki appears briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtrash/pseuds/godtrash
Summary: I'm over influenced by what you are doin I thought I was doin the most then someone said to me





	Swimming Pools

The cold tile around the school swimming pool was like ice on his back, or at least he wished it was. It was hot. Too hot for a culture festival, too hot for much of anything except lying around. He wasn’t even the type to do so, not like Jirou, but desperate times and all that. 

Times had certainly become desperate, given his current state. In a skirt, a girl’s uniform no less, lying alone beside the huge indoor swimming pool. He had slipped away after the debacle at the takoyaki stand, unnoticed by everyone (so he thought) to get a bit of peace. The whole thing with the team, with everyone, and of course his best friend he wasn’t incredibly in love with had become a bit too much, and in the literal heat of the moment he may have exploded. Just a bit.

He popped the last of the takoyaki in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while he watched the ceiling. All in all, it wasn’t bad, Oshitari's cooking was a lot better than some of his other classmates, which wasn’t really saying all that much. The taste was marred a little by present circumstances, namely, his exceeding discomfort on the unforgiving floor, and the mirthful expression he remembered on that wily fake megane.

It wasn’t as though he wanted to wear a skirt today, a fact his so-called compatriots had failed to bear in mind when they started in on the jokes. It wasn’t as though he was the only one to endure such humiliation, either - Jirou, and in fact the rest of the male half of their class were all in some degree of the girl’s uniform, some taking a bit farther than others, granted. Jirou and Gakuto, along with several of the girls who had taken wholeheartedly to the boys’ uniforms foisted it on him. He couldn’t deny being a bit proud than they had to nearly knock him unconscious just to get the dreaded thing on. But it was done, and with his usual clothes absconded with, it wasn’t as though he had much choice in the matter. Either that, or walk around naked, which nobody would be interested in seeing.

Or so he thought.

Shishido sat up, finally, stretching his tired out limbs, tired from fighting and running and now sitting still. The place was deserted. Everyone was roaming the halls, the outside, everywhere there were stands and food and lights and people. 

“Shishido-san?”

But this place wasn’t devoid of people, at least not of the person he cared about the most in the world. He avoided looking back at his doubles partner for the moment, pretending to be interested in the sloshing of the pool water. 

“What’s up? Atobe go blow a fuse again?”

“No.” He could hear Choutarou’s shuffling footsteps draw closer, and stop, casting a faint shadow over him.

“I was ah, concerned about you.”

He forced himself to look at Choutarou at last, managing something that could have been a smile but was truthfully more of a grimace. 

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not mad, or anything. Well, I was, but I know how those dumbasses can be. Really, I’m over it.”

Neither of them really believe what he’s saying, but he’s glad to have a best friend who will humor him for the moment, and then call his bullshit later when necessary. Choutarou sits down beside him, long legs folded awkwardly as they both stare at the empty pool.

“I wasn’t lying, you know.” His voice is impossibly soft, after a moment of silence, it breaks like ice. Brown eyes meet even darker ones, there’s this fleeting thing between them that only seems visible at the edges, in a moment where they are alone like this. But he blinks, and the moment is gone, and Choutarou is clearing his throat awkwardly and pretending like he didn’t just admit to finding his senpai attractive again.

The smell of chlorine is overwhelming, but he can still smell him, a mess of things wrapped into one. Absently his hands brush at the edges of the too short skirt, and those big brown doe eyes follow his arms down, too innocent for his own good. That’s what he thinks, but when he catches his eyes again there’s something in them none too childish, all hungry and predator like, nothing like the herbivore he’s made out to be by everyone.

He’s going to say something, dispel the growing weirdness in between them, but before he can he’s aware of Choutarou pressing up near him, leaning closer and it’s weird, he can smell the shampoo he uses, and his mouth is just inches from the nape of his neck, it’s weird and he wants to yell, but it would echo, and he bites his lip and doesn't say anything at all.

“Sorry.” He draws back, seeming to remember himself at the last second. He wants to scream in frustration, tell him it’s fine, it’s okay, he doesn’t mind, but no words are forthcoming. Instead he does the only thing left to him. Words were never his thing, declarations of love and heavy handed flirting were always Oshitari’s bag. He is a man of action. So he acts.

His hands are skimming Choutarou’s jawline, and there’s angles and tilting heads and a lot of things to consider, too much in his present state of mind. They just bump noses at first, pull back and sort of frown and smile awkwardly at one another, and then they go again. This time it works out a little better, and he tries to school himself mentally on the mechanics of kissing, tries to remember the girls magazines he stole from his classmates and his brother’s shitty worthless advice. He doesn’t recall much of any of it, except for some reason today’s science lesson, which was on sea slugs. His desperately wills himself to stop thinking about them in relation to current events, that is, his mouth parting just a little and their tongues touching, and then his best friend’s tongue in his mouth.

Don’t think about sea slugs, or slugs of any kind. He really can’t help himself it seems, in more ways than one. It doesn’t do much to deter him though. Especially when he goes and settles his hands on Choutarou’s broad shoulders, and Choutarou’s hands settle on his waist in turn, and they’re sitting there half turned kissing by a pool, and he hopes to god that no one decides to come in at this moment, because that would be disastrous. Especially when he makes some strange animal noise in the back of his throat when Choutarou closes the distance between them, and he becomes aware again of the fact that he is currently wearing a skirt.

They break for the moment, fumbling and trying to arrange themselves, but even as they do Choutarou’s hands go on moving of their own accord, those beautiful pianist’s fingers, going on to settle on his thighs and push slightly up under the pretty plaid pleated skirt, that is really too short to be appropriate for school, where the hell did Gakuto even get it anyhow? And then he thanks all the stars in the universe that they didn’t somehow wrangle him into wearing girls’ underpants, that he's got his own boxers underneath. He has no doubt Gakuto wouldn’t mind wearing panties, given the chance, but thankfully for all it was their homeroom that decided on the cross-dressing cafe for the festival.

He forgets himself, sitting there with what surely the kindest and sweetest boy on earth with his fingers under his skirt, but he’ll have to stop now or lose his the remainder of his self control, and get caught for sure.

He catches his wrist, not really meeting his eye since he doesn’t trust himself in the least, and sighs. 

“I’m sorry.” Choutarou mumbles, and he punches his shoulder affectionately, hoping some kind of overly masculine bravado is enough to counteract what just transpired. 

“No, I. Uh. I don’t mind. It’s just.” He flaps him arm helplessly at their surroundings, and Choutarou nods slowly. They make eye contact for the first time in over a minute, and he smiles.

It’s still weird.

But he can pretend, for the moment. Pretend that nothing happened for the time being, and they’ll figure it out later. 

He rests his head on his kouhai’s shoulder, not at all irritated that he remains taller even when sitting down, even with the advantage of his impossible long legs is out. But they are close, closer than they have ever been, both metaphorically and physically, so he temporarily forgets to be annoyed over the height difference.

“You wanna swim?”

He can't believe this boy. He knows it’s a joke, but he cracks a disbelieving grin anyhow, but Shishido's face is dead set. He’s serious. 

“I wanna swim.” 

He doesn’t await a response, just stands up and sidles all gracefully up to the water’s edge, takes off his shoes and socks and dips his feet in. Maybe that’s all he meant to do, who knows. Whatever was involved in his cunning plan, his not handsome clearly awful smirk, his vaguely rumpled hair and lean body, all of it works, because Choutarou gets up and joins him, thinking this was all that was going to happen. He’s wrong, of course.

He unbuttons the blouse, yanks it off his shoulders, and tosses it at him. Choutarou hears the splash and all he can see is cotton, all he can smell is clean laundry and the strange minty smelling soap he uses. He throws the shirt aside, looks down at him. Shirtless, and in a skirt, of all things, in the school pool.

It’s scandalous. 

“You gonna swim?” 

It’s the dumbest thing he has done yet in his life, and he nearly sacrificed his regulars position for a guy he didn’t really know that well. He undoes the buttons slow, too slow for Shishido’s liking. He laughs and splashes him, lounging in the water. The shirt falls to the ground. There’s not much to do about his pants, he's not about to go swimming in his skivvies on school property but after the shoes and socks go off he rolls the pants legs up anyhow. Not that it will do any good. He perches like a bird at the edge of the pool, and Shishido comes to meet him, taking his hands and pulling him in, like a mermaid yanking a sailor to his death.

They are unbelievably close now, in the water, Shishido wraps his arms around him and puts a hold on him to prevent him chickening out. It’s too late to back out now anyhow, what with his clothes thoroughly soaked in the tepid waters of the pool and Shishido’s soft breath on his face. Rivulets of water drip down his face, on his lips, and Choutarou finds himself with difficulty swallowing. 

“We could get in serious trouble, if anyone finds us.”

“No one will.” His senpai is quick to reassure, through he looks more unsure than ever he had seen him. Unsure about getting caught, unsure about this whole business with them, whatever it is, whatever is going on. He doesn't really understand it, but Shishido seems perfectly willing to hold him close and give him that crooked smile he gives to absolutely no one else, and that for the time being is enough.

They kiss again, by the four foot mark, but it doesn't last long with his senpai’s hand on his neck and him being so near, their bodies touching not only at the lips and it becomes a bit too much for a very energetic teen boy, so that he starts to pull away lest he terribly embarrass himself. Shishido comes closer in response, and backs him up against the edge, spine digging against the solid concrete. The water slaps against his skin, and he means to say something, quickly, before the whole situation goes any further, but someone else says it for him.

“So that’s where you were.” 

He isn’t thinking of his place, the, where he is right now. He cranes his neck over his shoulder at the figure in the doorway. They never heard the changing room door open, nor the loud echoing footsteps in the huge chamber. Taki stands, catlike face pinched and eager, half disgusted and envious and the other half like a cat with a saucer of milk, he had gotten something juicy today.

“I can’t say I’m at all surprised by this turn of events, but congratulations none the less.”  
He flounces out, graceful as a ballerina, the door to the locker room slamming in his wake. Shishido at this time has gone very red, hands still resting on his kouhai’s taller shoulders as he crowds him against the wall. 

 

“It’s not so bad.” Choutarou soothes anxiously, knowing that the moment Taki gets out loose in the halls he will be running his mouth about what he’d just seen to Gakuto and Oshitari at the very least, if not other parties. 

He's smart enough to know not to spread it everywhere, but those two are one of the last people he wants knowing about this. Even if they already know, to some extent, judging by the constant smirks and kissy faces made behind hands at lunchtime. 

For once, he doesn’t want to let them win, or be right, as irrational as the whole thing is. There’s no reason to hide it from them, and yet there is every reason to hide it in general. Shishido slumps, defeated.

“It might be a little bad.” Choutarou amends. “But I think.. Taki-san will-”

“Taki will screw me over, like he’s always done. Because I screwed him over, or whatever. Fucking lame.”

Choutarou manages a weak smile. 

“Still,” he persists “they’d find out sooner or later, if we didn’t tell them... I mean, they tease us now, though, so it’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re right. At least the hard part will be over.”

He pulls back, face still slightly pink. 

“I will miss being sneaky about the whole thing, though.”

“You’re not that sneaky.”

“Hey.” he mumbles, floating backwards. He dog paddles back to the ladder. The mood is effectively ruined by Taki’s appearance, and Choutarou is grateful in a way for the distraction. Back turned to Shishido, he pulls himself rather ungracefully out of the water. 

The skirt, soaking wet, is of a sheerer material than previously thought, and clings to Shishido’s thighs in a way that isn’t entirely unbecoming. Choutarou avoids looking at him for the time being as they grab fresh towels from the locker rooms to dry off with, and sit together on the bench in silence.

“This sucks. Sucks sucks sucks.” Shishido is muttering, pulling the slicked fabric off with a smack. Choutarou’s eyes go very wide, and then he closes them altogether, more scandalized than a Victorian maiden. 

“You don’t have to look away, you know.” He says crossly. “It's not gonna ruin my honor or anything if you see my underwear.”

“I know!” Choutarou squeaks, making solid eye contact and not shiftily looking away whatsoever.

Shishido pauses as he half turns in the light of the locker room.

“Uh. They went and hid my clothes. Any chance you could... find me a spare boy's uniform?”

He tries to make his voice soft and nice like he's learned how to ask for things, but he knows somewhere deep down he could have rudely demanded it and Choutarou would have done it anyway. A little miffed, maybe, but he knows the kid is crazy for him at this point. Has got to, after all they've been through. He surely wouldn't still be sticking around if he wasn't.

“Sure, Shishido-senpai.” 

Oh now he's pulled back to senpai, trying to distance them from each other to avoid any further awkwardness. It's too late anyway, he thinks, the damage is done, but he can understand the sentiment. 

“Maybe we keep things chill a while.” He says with that in mind. “Maybe not make out on school grounds for a while. Not that we can't at all!” He amends himself quickly, catching sight of Choutarou's kicked-puppy like expression. 

“You know me, Shishido-san.” His kouhai gives him a wry smile as he stands to go, leaving Shishido on the bench with his hands folded stiffly in his lap. “I'm icy cool.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is old old old news. Like 2014 old. I slapped on some new paint and an half-assed attempt at an ending because frankly I needed to put something on this account. I hope you enjoy! Thank you Dusty for giving me the kick I needed to post it, you rule.


End file.
